


Handsome

by Antipodean2



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:26:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antipodean2/pseuds/Antipodean2
Summary: one shot Clarke contemplates her hands and Lexas hands





	Handsome

**Author's Note:**

> another drabble or rambling or rambling drabble - from Clarkes POV

I ask you if you have ever analysed what your initial attraction is to someone? 

People talk of chemicals, pheromones, the spiritual meeting of souls, for me its hands.

My own hands are problematic for me; I like their strength, the length (if not the width) of the fingers.

I dislike the size of my palms, which are exactly the same length as my middle finger, I read somewhere this means I am practical and will have a career as a surgeon or sculptor. An old woman once read my palm and told me I would be a doctor.

I feel a mild disappointment that I have betrayed my palmic destiny; I am neither a sculptor nor a doctor. I’ve always preferred drawing

I’m not sure what I am; back to hands. your hands.

Strength and elegance, an unlikely combination and yet harmonious in a way that unsettles and calms. If I read copious amounts of data on palmistry would I be able to predict the destiny of such hands? Would I hold them in my own and intone solemnly that these hands could bring both comfort and pain, that the owner would become a poet or poisoner, a teacher or a thief? 

Would I lie and smile and stroke the middle of each palm, nodding sagely, a guru of hokum, mesmerising the owner while rocking backward and forward like a snake charmer? Teeth clenched and smile wide, stretched like a rubber band ready to snap back. Smoke and mirrors, snakes and ladders, more games.  
Hand Games, slapping, palm-to-palm, thumb-to-thumb, swapping sweat and skin flakes.  
Strength and elegance an unlikely combination, a doctor or a murderer?

Do murderers play hand games, do surgeons to? do they both enjoy the feel of blood and flesh pulsing beneath fingers as they squeezed, do they pick at the blood under their nails checking for telltale forensics. 

Calloused or clean, dirt, oil, paint, blood, pores forever tainted; a life can be revealed in a press of flesh.  
But not these hands; these strong and elegant hands they reveal nothing.

I wish I had prominent veins like these hands do, criss crossed over tendons and muscle, blood so close to the skin, thrumming with life, the skin soft yet taut, brown and flawless. My hands are freckled and fleshy, the mounds of the palms red and puffy, apparently it means I’m pleasure oriented, lustful and hedonistic.   
Maybe that’s why I’m not a surgeon.  
Could I reach my hands between a cracked sternum and massage the heart beneath? In my mightmares I can rip and rend, tear flesh and destroy,

in the daytime hand jobs are more mundane.

Slick, sticky, the scent strong descriptive and yet impossible to describe, the promise of strong elegant hands, moving probing, feeling in the dark stretched ahead blind and searching, tentative and shaking but ready and needing..

How can these hands be so cool and dry, not clammy, hot and sweaty as mine often are. Rubbing palms down pants before shaking hands, slipping on surfaces, a glass will shattering from a nervous hand, slick with sweat and shaking.

But not these, these strong elegant hands, damning and handsome.


End file.
